Wolfy

Cassius "Cash" Wolf. Eastcliff.

[cashwolfx]

Location: Salty Dogs

@sawyerxaraya​

Cash was having a rather lucid evening so far. He was up and about at his bar, checking on his employees and his patrons. It was very unlike him to go several hours without a sip, but he had good days like this one every so often. “You gonna order anytime soon?” he inquired, approaching a cute dark-haired girl who seemed preoccupied with her cocktail napkin while taking up a seat at the counter. “Usually people come to a bar to drink..not.. whatever it is you’re doing.”

[cashwolfx]

juniper-luc4s​:

It had been a long ass night for June. She had spent most of the night at her desk writing another song for another stupid client. It wasn’t that she hated her job or anything, she hated clients that didn’t give her the creative freedom that she deserved after working in the industry for so long. She figured going out to the beach would soothe the anger in her mind. Pulling a oversized t-shirt over her bathing suit, she checked her phone. Staying up until 6am to write again. She wasn’t sure if she was proud of herself or wanted to cry. Stepping out onto the beach, she felt the peace of the ocean wash over her. She gazed out at the water and then started walking. She saw something in the distance on the sand but didn’t pay it much attention. The closer she got, the more it started to look like a person, sprawled out uncomfortably. She sighed and dropped down onto the sand not far from the body. It was a man and from what she could smell, he had drank himself stupid.“Hey,” She said softly as she shook his shoulder,”Come on, big guy. Let’s get you up, yeah?” She checked his pulse and breathing, relieved that he was stable.”Don’t make me go down to the water. I’m not above the good ole water pouring method.” 

@cashwolfx​

Cash had gone on a fantastic bender, so fantastic that he had completely forgotten his way home and passed out on the beach. It wasn’t the first time this had happened and it probably wouldn’t be the last. He was in a heavy slumber when the brunette found him in the sand, his shirt lost somewhere between the bar and the beach along with his shoes. He stirred with a groan when his shoulder was nudged. “Try it..” he grunted, lifting his hand to rub his face, inadvertently spreading sand to his beard. “Fuck. What time is it?”   @juniper-luc4s​

[cashwolfx]

everettsdaytons​:

Everett was driving a tad bit too fast that day. Okay, like really super fast. Who really cared about speed limits – certainly not them. It was safe to say they weren’t really paying attention to the pedestrians but just as they took another sharp turn, they almost rode over someone who was crossing the road. They slammed on the brakes, barely missing the person and spoke after they slid down the window on his side of the car. “You okay or what?” @eastcliffopens​

Cash knew that it wasn’t a good idea to leave the bar today. His growling belly was urging him to seek out food, but if it were up to him he would’ve subsisted on alcohol instead. He was sure he’d had the right of way to cross the street when a car came barreling down the road, but maybe not. His brain was a little fuzzy. Thankfully the driver had good enough reflexes to stop before any impact. Cash pushed his messy hair out of his face as he paused in the middle of the road, turning to the seemingly apathetic driver. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He grunted, “Not like I need my legs or anything, asshole.” @everettsdaytons​

[cashwolfx]

TASK 001: INTRODUCTION

Full Name: Cassius James Wolf

Nickname(s): Cash, Wolfy

Age: 34

Birthdate: May 2nd

Sexuality: Bisexual (super closeted)

Occupation: Owner of Salty Dogs bar

Neighborhood: Greenwood

trigger warnings: alcoholism, drug abuse, domestic violence, bullying, neglect, death

Bio:

Cassius was born and raised in a trailer park to teenage parents who knew little about being good people, let alone good parents. His father was a drunk and his mother was a pill fiend, which left very little time for care or affection for Cash. Growing up, Cash was skinny as a rail and dirty due to his parents often neglecting to provide for his basic needs. When he was of school age, there were often threats of child services calls to his home from teachers and other parents but no one seemed to actually care enough to follow through. Cash started stealing pieces of fruit and wrapped sandwiches from the cafeteria to take home with him when he was in 2nd grade. He learned early on that if he had to steal to take care of himself, he would do it without guilt.

Cash was often bullied at school for being a trailer park resident and for his small size. He’d go home with ripped clothes and black eyes, but his parents often didn’t notice or didn’t care. Cash’s parents were mostly too busy fighting among themselves to distinguish whether Cash’s injuries were sustained at school or at home anyway. Eventually, Cash started to steal his father’s liquor. He had his first sip of whiskey at 9 years old and he never looked back. 

As Cash entered middle school, he began to put on weight and work out to get strong. Instead of being the victim of bullying, he began to antagonize other kids. Get them, before they get me became his mantra. He learned to look the other way when his mother did dirty things for guys in the trailer park for a fix and when his father passed out in his own vomit on the lawn time and time again. He didn’t think about it anymore; it was normal. 

As soon as Cash was capable of leaving his parents and the trailer park, he did. He joined up with a biker gang and traveled around with them for several years until he grew weary of the pecking order; Cash bumped heads with leadership way too often. He moved to Eastcliff five years ago and poured every bit of cash he had on hand into buying Salty Dogs, an establishment fit for a drinking aficionado like himself. He got word a few months back that his father passed from cirrhosis of the liver, most likely due to his years of drinking, but that only made Cash want to drink more. Cash has no idea what’s become of his mother; he doesn’t really care. From time to time, after hitting yet another rock bottom, he goes to AA meetings, but it never sticks.           

[mae-martin]

No more mind games, no more backstabbing. How would that have felt?

[demelzahcarne]

Ben Robson by Frederic Auerbach for Content Mode